


Tease

by 7r33h0u53r3fu633



Category: markiplier - Fandom
Genre: Edging, Insecurity, Multi, Polyamory, Teasing, gender neutral reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-24
Updated: 2019-08-24
Packaged: 2020-09-25 18:51:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20376424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/7r33h0u53r3fu633/pseuds/7r33h0u53r3fu633
Summary: Tyler and Mark have been teasing you. You are starting to go a bit twitchy from it.





	Tease

**Author's Note:**

  * For [NBmess](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NBmess/gifts).

When it came to being part of a triad, it could be tricky. Not even bringing emotions into things, because emotions were _always_ tricky, but they were their own kettle of fish. 

No, this was an issue of bodies. 

There were beds, to start with. Most beds were manufactured with the expectation that there would be two people sleeping in them, not three. There was a lot of squishing, a lot of getting used to people's elbows being in one place or another. It didn't help that Mark snored and Tyler sometimes kicked in his sleep and you liked to sleep flat on your back with your elbows out to the sides of your body. 

And then there was the matter of food - the two of them were always trying some kind of new diet in an attempt to do... who even knew what. You'd told them flat out you weren't going to participate, which was fair enough, but it meant that the fridge was usually full of weird concoctions, and sometimes they'd shoot you the most desperate puppy dog eyes as you made your breakfast of pancakes or something equally innocuous and delicious that they were denying themselves this month. 

There was the problem of television shows - Mark didn't watch horror movies, Tyler was an avid nature documentary fan, and you had your own things that they weren't interested in. So sometimes it felt like most nights were one big compromise over the remote. Not that you'd complain too hard - it's not like they liked anything that you _hated_.

Hell, even waking up slightly cramped with the two of them in bed with you was worth it. It always made you feel safe and warm, the two of them so close that you were sweating, just a bit, but in a nice way. It was good to sleep on either side of them, or sometimes even between them. You liked the way they held you, liked the way they looked at you.

You liked it especially when the three of you bundled together on the couch, watching whatever weird thing it was that you'd all agreed on (at the very least, you can all agree that weird, fucked up movies are a high art form), and then one hand was on your thigh and someone was kissing you, and there were enough hands in play that you lost track of who was doing what, only that someone was doing something, and you were doing something to - holding on to Mark's hair, or maybe it was Tyler's face? There was a stubbly cheek against your own and a hot, wet tongue against your neck. You were squirming between the two of them, and you wondered faintly if they had planned this. They had a habit of doing that - of ganging up on you, to fuck you or kiss you or do _whatever_ \- and you'd complain about it, except you did it to them as well. You sighed, as a hand skated up your stomach, fingers pinching your nipples, and another hand was going to part your thighs even wider.

"You're both worked up," you mumbled, squirming against them. "What's got you in such a tizzy?"

"I just find you agonizingly hot," Mark said, his tone earnest. His voice was resonating through his chest, his breath hot in your ear. 

"Not that we don't find you hot all the time," Tyler added, and he was sliding his fingers into the waistband of your lounge pants, to pull them down and off of your hips. His hand was going right where it was appreciated, and you grunted as they pressed against where you were the most sensitive, as you jerked your hips forward. 

"Gee, thanks," you mumbled, spreading your legs wider, until one of your feet is flat on the ground and your other one is thrown over the edge of the couch. You were a bit more... on display than you usually were, but he seemed to be enjoying the sigh. He licked his lips, and then he was shifting around, putting his mouth right where it was appreciated. 

"Look at you," Tyler said when he pulled back, and his voice seemed to be coming from a long way off. "Look at... all of that. Wow." 

"I'm sorry," you said, and then you squealed, as Mark pinched and twisted your nipple.

"Sorry for what?" Tyler nipped the inside of your thigh, then sucked, hard enough to leave a hickey. You thrashed against him, and Mark groaned, his cock grinding against your ass. 

"I... you know," you said thickly, because it was hard to think when Tyler was using his fingers like that, his fingers and his mouth.

"No," Tyler said, and he wrapped his lips around one particularly delicate spot and _sucked_, hard enough to make your eyes roll back in your head. 

"No?" Mark sounded amused. "No, what?"

"Mmm," Tyler said, sending the vibrations through you and leaving you completely boneless. 

"Fuck," you said, and your voice broke. 

"If you ask really nicely," said Mark, and he pinched both of your nipples at once. You groaned, your head dropping back onto his neck, and he nibbled on your neck. 

"How nicely is nicely?" You bucked your hips forward, your head lolling back onto Mark's shoulder. He went back to kissing along your neck, and you shuddered, trying not to hump into his hand too inelegantly. 

"I dunno," said Mark. "I _have_ always valued manners, haven't I?"

"That you have," Tyler agreed, and he moved his hand again, in just the right way. You sobbed, trying not to squirm any harder, and he was using his mouth and his hand in tandem now, in just the way that always made you crazy. You didn't know how they both managed to ferret out all of the different ways to send you right down the bend, and yet they did. 

They were disturbingly good at it. 

Not that you were complaining too hard. 

It was hard to complain, when you were sandwiched between two beautiful men, and the both of them were touching you as many ways as they could, making your eyes roll back in your head and your hips roll forward. 

"Please," you said, and your voice was rough, your chest heaving. Sweat was dripping down your face, and you were beginning to gasp. There were hands all over you, and you were having trouble keeping track of what hands were doing what. You were almost there, just teetering on the very edge of an orgasm, when they both pulled off of you. Full on pulled off, hands and mouths taken off of you, and it left you shaking, trying to catch your breath. "W-what?"

"You could've asked nicer," Mark said casually, and he settled back into the couch.

"What?!" You were trying to get your thoughts together, as Tyler got up and stretched, his hands above his head. 

"I dunno," Tyler said, as he made his way towards the kitchen. "I thought that was pretty nice."

"Why why'd you _stop_?" You tried to keep the whine out of your voice, as you wriggled into the warm spot that Tyler had left behind.

"Well, since Mark stopped, I didn't want to be the only one doing anything," Tyler said, as if that was a totally normal thing to say. 

"But you wouldn't be the only one doing anything," you said, plaintively. Mark was wiping his hands on his pants, absently, where you'd gotten them sticky with your arousal, and you tried not to watch too hard as he did that, tried not to squirm too hard. God, you were turned on. "I was doing it too."

"You weren't really doing anything," Mark said. "You were being done to."

"I was participating! That's doing something!'

"If I'm painting," said Mark, "the canvas isn't actually doing anything. It's just being painted on. It's being passive."

"I am _not_ a passive lay," you groused, crossing your arms across your chest and letting yourself sink down into your spot on the couch. You had been so close, too! Your arousal was throbbing through you like a metronome, leaving you shaking and sweaty. 

"I didn't say you were," Mark said.

"You _did_ just use the term passive," Tyler pointed out. He was carrying two glasses of water. 

"Yeah, but that was in regards to a canvas," Mark said defensively.

You took the glass of water that Tyler offered you, and you took a sip of it, letting the coolness wash down your throat. You let your eyes slide shut, trying to steady your breathing, and you drank more water. 

"You were referring to me as being passive because I wasn't doing anything," you pointed out. 

"Well, yes, but..." Mark trailed off, and he made a face. "I'm not going to win this one, am I?"

"I'd advise you to dig up," Tyler agreed, and he looked down at where you had taken up his bit of the couch. "You know, I was sitting there."

"And I was about to come," you countered. "Things change, apparently."

"You can just get yourself off," Tyler pointed out, mild as ever. 

"That's not the _same_," you said, aware that you were whining. "I like it better when you guys do it."

"You didn't ask nice enough," Mark said, as if that that was reasonable.

You, in turn, were very reasonable, in that you just stuck your tongue out at him and didn't dump water on his head. The very picture of maturity, you were. 

* * *

You took a shower, standing under the hot water and letting it drum down on your head, a comforting white noise, and you turned your face into it, the heat and pressure comforting against your face. You were still turned on, but not inclined towards masturbation. You leaned against the wall of the bathroom, your eyes half lidded, and you sighed, relaxing into it. 

It was nice to be teased, if a bit frustrating. You knew that the two of them definitely had a Thing for edging you, even if you didn't entirely get why. You were still getting used to that as well - other people's kinks could be confusing, but you were game. Although you would have appreciated if they'd have been a bit more straightforward about when they were planning to do something like that with you, if only because otherwise you got _twitchy_. Although maybe that was just the sexual frustration build up, which admittedly, could definitely be a _thing_. 

Still. It was very much worth it.

You sighed, turning around to let the water get at your back, and you rested your forehead on the cold tiles. There was something relaxing about the quiet and the coolness, as your whole body gradually began to unknot. The pressure and desperation that had been building and building at the base of your gut began to lessen, although it was still there, on the very edges of your consciousness. You squirmed, trying to get more comfortable, and the memory of a hot mouth on the back of your neck came back.

You groaned, pressing your forehead into the tile, and you shivered as you remembered their hands on you, the way it felt for them to press as close to you as possible. Their hands on you, their mouths, their cocks nudging against you. You shuddered, another pulse of arousal going through you, and then you groaned.

You were too worked up for your own good. This was kind of ridiculous, although you could at least do your best to fight it off, to the best of your ability. You sighed, scrubbing your face with both hands, and then you turned the light off. At the very least, you could try to turn your hormones off a bit. Try to act like the adult you were, instead of the horny teenager you had been, for all the good it would do you to try to do so. 

But sleeping would do you good. It would quiet some of the pounding of your blood, and leave your head clearer. 

Mark was already in bed, snoring, and Tyler was sitting up, his glasses on the tip of his nose, reading whatever weird nonfiction book he'd picked up from the library. He smiled at you when you padded in, still damp, and he patted the bed. 

You climbed in, settling down next to him, so that he was in the center. You liked to sleep between the two of them, but sometimes, when you had just showered, it was like napping beside a kiln. Wonderful, but also like being baked alive. 

"What are you reading about?" You stretched out, one leg over Tyler's own, and he gave it an absent squeeze. 

"A serial killer from the Chicago World's Fair, and also when the mayor of Chicago got assassinated," Tyler said, his tone earnest, and it took effort not to giggle at how excited he sounded. Oh, Tyler. 

"Cool," you said, and you let your eyes drift shut. You knew that he'd turn the light off soon, and you let yourself cuddle up to him, your head on his chest, his big arm wrapped around your waist. It was nice, how _easy_ intimacy was getting. It was just a thing that the three of you all did, and it wasn't some big production, or some fraught something or other. His arm was heavy and warm, and you liked the way it pressed into you. 

You fell asleep to the steady thud-thud-thud of his heart, his chest rising and falling as he breathed. 

* * *

You woke up to someone touching your face, their fingers delicate as they stroked across your eyebrows, then down the slope of your nose. You opened your eyes slowly, still warm and comfortable in bed, to find Tyler staring down at you, practically haloed in the early morning light. He had no right to look that _gorgeous_, especially first thing in the morning. 

He grinned at you, his expression dopey. "Hi," he said.

"Hi," you said, and you yawned, stretching, your back arching and your toes curling. You liked the way he was looking at you, but there was something... uncomfortable about it. About being the focus of that much intensity, that much affection. You broke the eye contact, but you cuddled into his chest, until he could tuck his chin on top of your head. 

"Mark is downstairs, making breakfast," said Tyler. "Well, making his breakfast." His big hand was on your back now, rubbing up and down absently.

"Right," you mumbled, and you yawned, snuggling in. "I want eggs."

He snorted across the top of your head. "What kind of eggs?"

"Good ones," you said, and he chuckled, a rumble that vibrated across your skin. His chest resonated like a guitar.

"That's not that helpful," he chided.

"I wasn't put on this earth to be helpful," you countered. 

"Evidently," Tyler said, his tone dry.

You snorted, a puff of hot air across Tyler's neck, and Tyler squirmed, then gave you another squeeze. 

"We should get up," Tyler said, but he didn't move. If anything, he pulled you a little closer.

"We should," you agreed, but also didn't move. He was just so... comfortable, so warm, so _present_, and there was something that felt downright safe about it. Any minute now, Chica was going to come out and bother the two of you, or maybe Mark would stick his head in and ruin the moment in one of those creative ways of his that he always managed. But until that point, it was nice. There was enough "nice" missing from the world that you were willing to take it while you could. 

* * *

You ate your breakfast downstairs, still in your pajamas, your head full of sleep. It wasn't anything special, but it wasn't an especially important morning, was it? Just the three of you, going about your business, doing your own thing. It was nice to have a routine at this point, although sometimes you missed the excitement when it was new - the frisson of getting something unexpected, of not knowing what was going to happen next. 

You had always been close, it was true, and once you'd formed a triad there had been several months where it all felt like threesomes and the excitement leading up to threesomes. It was less like that these days - it was nearly impossible to keep that kind of forward momentum going, even if you wanted to. You watched the two of them bicker cheerfully over their respective breakfasts (why was Mark drinking some kind of shake that was a color that no food should be? Who even knew at this point), and you let the fondness wash over you.

"What's up with you?" Mark looked at you over the rim of his smoothie.

"Nothing," you said quickly, and you cleared your throat. "Sorry. Just thinking sappy thoughts."

"Oooh," said Tyler, and he waggled his eyebrows like Grouchy Marx. "You _like_ us, don't you?"

"Ha ha," said Mark, doing a pretty good imitation of Nelson from _the Simpsons_. "You have feelings, don't you?"

"Perish the thought," you said dryly, and stared down into your breakfast, grinning in spite of yourself. They were both such idiots, and you didn't know what you'd do without them.

"Let's do something fun tonight," Mark said, and you looked up at him, one eyebrow up.

"Any particular reason why?" Tyler looked intrigued. 

You tried to hide any anxiety that might have been building up in your gut. _Shit_. Had you forgotten an anniversary, or anything like that? You weren't always the best at keep track of those. 

"I dunno," Mark said. "Do we need a reason to do something nice?"

"I mean," you said, "what with the both of you being rather intense workaholics, yes, we usually _do_ need a reason to do something nice. Otherwise you both feel guilty." 

"Capitalism," Tyler said cheerfully. "Ain't it wonderful?"

"I'd be just as much of a neurotic workaholic if we were under a different economic structure," Mark protested.

"Would you, though?" You leaned against the counter, watching the kettle on the stove. You grabbed a packet of instant oatmeal, and dumped it into the bowl, adding dried fruit as well. 

"Well, yeah, that's my personality," said Mark. "Economics won't change that."

"I read that a lot of workaholic... ism," Tyler paused, clearly trying to figure out his word choice, "comes from anxiety about not having enough."

"Well, duh," said Mark. "Why else would someone overwork themselves?"

"To shut up the anxious screaming in their head," you said promptly. 

Mark looked at you, one eyebrow up.

"If you keep busy enough, you don't have to think about anything else," you said, aware of how defensive you sounded, equally aware that it wasn't exactly a _strong_ defense against the argument you're all having. 

"Which is there because..." Mark supplied. His expression was smug, the bastard.

"I think this is too intellectual a conversation to be having this early," Tyler grumbled, and he came up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist, his chin on your shoulder. He had a bit of a boner, which he pressed against your ass. You weren't sure if he was doing that on purpose or not, but the way you ground back against him sure was purposeful. 

Tyler gasped, and one of his hands came to your hips, holding you in place. His cock was hard in his pajama pants, which were loose enough that it could just press against you with barely any resistance. He slid it along the cleft of your ass, then pressed it between your legs. It was awkward, with your height, and the fact that the both of you were still wearing loose, comfy pajama pants, so his cock was still trapped in fabric. 

You leaned back against him, and you let your eyes slide shut, as his hands came around to pinch at your nipples, then twist them. His mouth was hot and familiar on your neck, and you shuddered, squeezing his cock between your thighs.

"You two are having fun without me," Mark complained from his spot at the table. He sounded amused, not annoyed, but you still shot him an anxious glance. The three of you were pretty good when it came to jealousy, but... still. You always worried that someone might push the wrong metaphorical button, leave the other two feeling left out, or the other one. There had been a hurt feelings a few times, but you've all gotten better about that, but....

"I'm teasing," said Mark, pulling you out of your slightly panicked spiraling, and you shot him a grateful look. 

"You can join us, y'know," said Tyler, and he pushed his cock between your legs again, rubbing against various delicate things through the two thin layers of cotton.

"Well, I can't say no to such a _gracious_ invitation," said Mark, and stood up, making his way towards the two of you. He was hard as well, his erection leaving a wet spot in his pajama pants, and then he was pressing closer to you, and his chest was up against yours, pressing Tyler's hands into your chest, and his mouth was hot on yours. You shuddered, and you were holding on to Mark's shoulders, as Mark's cock pressed into your thigh. 

They were bracketing you, their hands running up and down your sides, your sweat dripping down and off your back, your sides. You were being held tightly, and you were being kissed so hard that your head was spinning, your face being turned from one of them to the other.

_We should have more economic discussions, if they all end up like this_, went through your head with a dizzy sort of delirium. You shuddered, and you melted into the kisses, into the hands on your body, the sensation of being surrounded by heat and skin and safety. Both of the cocks pressing into you were so _much_, and you moaned, as two different tongues pressed against yours, fingers digging into your sides, moving to your back, your chest, your - 

The kettle boiled.

It was such a shrill, loud sound that all three of you jumped, and then you were grinding back against Tyler, grinding forward into Mark. You were going to let the kettle keep boiling, because who fucking cared? All of the arousal from last night came roaring back, with a vengeance, and you almost staggered when they pulled back from you. 

"Why'd you... what just..." You stuttered, trying to get your bearings.

"Your water is boiling," Mark said, his tone mild. "You wouldn't want to leave it on the stove, would you? That wouldn't be very good for the kettle."

"I hate you," you said, without rancor. Your own arousal was obvious, and you knew they could see it, but they were both going about their morning routines. 

"No you don't," Tyler said, and he patted you on the shoulder.

"You're both the worst," you said, with conviction, and you went to start on your oatmeal. You were still a bit giddy from all of... well, all of it, and it was hard to think. 

You glanced over your shoulder, and you caught the two of them smirking at each other. You licked your lips, and you tried to keep your hands steady as you poured the hot water over the oatmeal. 

"So," said Mark, "what kind of nice thing would you want to do tonight?"

They were both acting as if nothing had happened - as if they hadn't both been all over you. Were they playing some kind of long con, or was this one of their bullshit competitions? They got like that sometimes, over stuff that was honestly really dumb. You never entirely understood it, but then again, the two of them had been best friends since they were very young. 

"You're both the worst," you said, without rancor, but still shaking.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Mark said, and he wasn't even grinning like he was hiding something. 

The jerk.

Tyler snorted, but didn't say anything. He watched, passively, as you made your oatmeal, and kept watching as you sat down at the table, your face in your hands.

"You're both the worst," you told them again, although they didn't seem too bothered by you saying it. 

"I am the very epitome of amazingness," said Mark promptly.

"I don't think "amazingness" is a real word," said Tyler.

"There's no such thing as a real word or a fake word," you cut in, more to be an obnoxious asshole than because you held any strong opinions on the matter. It's fun to metaphorically yank their equally metaphorical pigtails sometimes. 

"Excuse you," said Mark. "There totally is."

"What makes them real, then?" You sat at the table, your oatmeal in front of you.

"If I can play them in Scrabble," Mark said promptly. 

"Since when do you play Scrabble?" Tyler rested his elbows on the table. 

"I play it with my mom," said Mark. 

"I didn't know you liked Scrabble," you said.

"It's a fun game," said Mark, and he sounded faintly anxious. 

"I'm sure it is," said Tyler, "but why that instead of, like, the dictionary?"

"I could make a comment about dictionaries only being a reflection of the society of the time, and how language is only actually dictated by those in power versus the way that people speak is dictated by... well, a whole bunch of things," said Mark. 

"... What," said Tyler. 

"What have _you_ been reading lately?" You raised an eyebrow, lifting up your spoon and blowing on the hot oatmeal. 

"I can't have outside interests?" Mark put his elbows on the table. "I'm not just "b to blow" and poop jokes, y'know!"

"You haven't made a poop joke in a while," Tyler commented. "I thought maybe you'd gone past that."

"Okay, "b to blow" and boner jokes. Are you happy now?" Mark stuck his tongue out.

"What differentiates Scrabble definitions and dictionary definitions? Since the both of them are both chosen by the same folks, right?" Tyler seemed to be digging his heels in. This was especially egregious, considering the fact that they were both presumably still sporting boners. Your own arousal was making it difficult to think in a straight line, as you tried to eat your breakfast and not think about the desperate throbbing between your legs. 

"Because Scrabble is a thing that you _use_," said Mark.

"You use a dictionary too," Tyler countered.

"I sure as fuck don't," said Mark. "I use the internet!"

"Are you kidding me?" You bit back a cackle, covering your mouth to keep any more embarrassing noises from coming out of your mouth. "When you look up a word, isn't the first result from Dictionary.com?" 

"I mean," Mark said, and he opened his mouth, clearly trying to think of a good response. Then he closed it, and had the good grace to look sheepish. "So maybe you're right," he said. 

"I often am," you said, and you preened, and took another bite of your oatmeal. It probably would have been more impressive if the bite you had taken wasn't quite so ginger, and you weren't eating your oatmeal like a cat stepping through water. It's not wrong of you to not want to burn your mouth, thouh!

He snorted. "I bet you're modest, too," Mark said.

"I sure am," you agreed.

"So what kind of fun thing do we want to do," Tyler said, before the two of you could start metaphorically poking each other again. You missed the not so metaphorical poking, truth be told. That had been _good_, and you could do with some... poking. Especially when the two of them had been teasing you to the extent that they had been.

Was it a sexy thing for them? Were they feeding into some kind of edging fantasy? A tease and denial sort of situation? Or was it that they kept being distracted? You didn't entirely understand it, but they seemed to be getting a kick out of it. Some anxious part of you was thinking that maybe it was some plan to fuck with you in a... mean way, but that made no sense. Why would they do that? 

If nothing else, over the course of living your life you have realized that people are generally not nasty unless they have a reason to be, unless they are singularly unpleasant people. You have lived with Mark and Tyler for a few months, and you've known them for longer than that - you would know, by now, if they were singularly unpleasant. And okay, maybe they had a few bad habits that made you a little bit crazy, but everyone had annoying little habits, and at least theirs were little things.

Inconsequential things. 

Although if the whole tease and denial thing was being turned into a Thing that was done, you were possibly going to go a little bit crazy. There was only _so much_ of that you could take, before you snapped and... what? Jumped on them? Locked yourself in a room to jerk off until you died of dehydration? 

"Babe?" Mark broke you out of your reverie, and you blinked at him, collecting yourself.

"What's up?"

"You were spacing out," Tyler supplied. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah," you said. "Sorry." 

"What's up?"

"Just wool gathering," you said.

"Wool from all those sheep you should've been counting?" Mark stretched, and he yawned.

"You're projecting," you told him. "I slept like a rock."

"A rock that snored," said Tyler.

"I do _not_ snore!" You responded, stung.

"Not much," Tyler amended. 

"Not at all," you said firmly. "I do _not_ snore."

"You do when you're sick," said Mark. 

"But I'm not currently sick."

"I feel like there's a joke I could make right now, with how "sick" means "cool" now," said Tyler. "But I can only see the shape of it. Not the actual joke." 

"The shape of the joke," you echoed. "That makes it sound like you're going to flood our bathroom so you can make out with a clown underwater."

There was an active, visible pause; all three of you just stopped.

"_What_?" Mark looked faintly nonplussed.

"You know, like... in _The Shape of Water_, only instead of flooding the place for a fish dude, you've got a clown."

"Why would you flood a room just for a clown?" 

"Maybe not flood it, but what else would you fill it with to simulate a clown's natural environs?" You were trying to not start giggling - this had somehow gotten into the absurd while you weren't looking.

"A clowns natural environs," Tyler said, deadpan. "Because clowns aren't people."

"I mean," said Mark, "I could believe that. But what's a clown's natural habitat, if that's the case?"

"A circus, obviously," you said. 

"What about a carnival?" Mark suggested. 

"Isn't a carnival just a traveling circus?" You leaned back in your chair, thinking. Your oatmeal was almost done. 

"All circuses are traveling circuses," countered Mark. 

"There are some stationary circuses," said Tyler.

"What, selling diaries and pens and paper?" Mark waggled his eyebrows like Groucho Marx.

"Oh my god," you groaned, and you scrubbed your face with both hands, sinking into your seat. "I cannot _believe_ you just said that. Holy shit."

"That was a good one," Tyler said, admiration in his voice.

"Don't encourage him," you scolded.

"If I don't follow my dreams, what else am I supposed to do?" Mark put on his best puppy eyes, batting his eyelashes at you.

You covered your face, and you snickered. "You mean other than the... how much money do you make overacting when it comes to jump scares in video games."

"I'm not overacting, thank you very much," Mark said, putting on an air of affronted dignity.

You snickered again, and you shot Tyler a look. He was grinning as well. 

"Although," said Tyler, and he stood up, "as lovely as this bantering is, we should probably start heading towards work." 

"Urgh," you said. "I hate capitalism."

"Don't we all," agreed Tyler. "But we still live under it."

"We should overthrow it," you said, without much enthusiasm.

"Indeed," said Mark. "Workers of the world, unite."

"We could start a union?" Tyler suggested.

"What, a union for layabout YouTube stars?" Mark looked faintly interested, then shook his head. "No, that wouldn't work." 

"I wouldn't call you a layabout," you said, as you got up, making your way towards the kitchen sink, to put your bowl in.

"Why wouldn't it work?" Tyler was looking thoughtful. 

"Because trying to get YouTubers to do anything is like trying to herd cats," said Mark. "We aren't exactly a cooperative bunch."

"You guys do cooperate sometimes," you protested. "Look at you and Tyler!"

"I wasn't a YouTuber from the get go," said Tyler. "I think I've kind of become a YouTuber by osmosis."

"Osmosis isn't the word you're thinking of," you said, and you turned on the water, running the bowl under the noisy stream of it. 

"I think osmosis works," said Tyler.

"Well, yes, it's a proven scientific theory," you said, more to be an asshole than for any other reason.

Tyler snorted, and he stood up, kissing you on the temple. "You're such a weirdo," he said.

You would have poked him in the side, if your hands weren't currently covered in hot, soapy water. When he was standing next to you like that, his warm skin so close to your own, you wanted to do nothing so much as turn your face up towards his and kiss him breathless, until the both of you were weak in the knees. You wanted to just... drown in him, until you couldn't smell or taste or feel anything but _him_. But that wasn't an option right now, because you had to run upstairs and get ready for the rest of the day. You needed to get dressed, brush your teeth - you probably should have made your lunch as well, come to think of it, although you'd cross that bridge when you got to it. 

Maybe you'd be lazy today, and just buy your lunch. That did have a certain appeal. Especially since Mark and Tyler sometimes complained when you left various sandwich fixings around, since apparently made them feel more likely to cheat on their various diets, although you'd made it pretty clear from the get go that you were _not_ putting up with that nonsense. 

Still.

"You okay, babe?" Mark put a hand on your shoulder, and you jumped, jolted out of your reverie.

"Yeah," you said. "Just, uh, wondering what I should do for lunch."

"I'll make you something, if you'd like," said Mark. 

"What, really?" You glanced at him, surprised. It wasn't that he didn't happily do stuff for you - he liked to do stuff for you and Tyler both, because that was the kind of guy he was. You just... weren't exactly expecting him to just volunteer like that.

"Sure," he said. "I'm not on as much of a time crunch as you are."

That _was_ true - since he set his own schedule, he could do things when he felt like it, even if he did try to stick to some kind of routine for the sake of his own sanity. 

"If you're sure," you said, and you blew him a kiss.

He grinned at you, mimed catching the kiss and pressing it against his cheek.

"Please make sure it's something that _I_ would want to eat," you told him. "Not just what you'd eat." He sometimes forgot that you weren't partaking in his ridiculous diets. 

"Yeah, yeah," he said, flapping his hand in your direction but grinning in spite of himself. "Go get ready."

You turned the water off, then went to kiss him. How could you not?

* * *

You came home from work to a quiet house. Mark and Tyler were off in their studio doing who knew what, although you heard an occasional muffled sound. You weren't go to complain, though - as much as you loved the two of them, it was sometimes a little bit... stifling, having two people in your business at all times. 

There was a note on the fridge - _we're going to be going late, don't worry about us_ \- and you yawned, stretched, opened the fridge. You could, in theory, make yourself something. Or you could be lazy and order in. You weren't sure what you were in the mood for, exactly, except that you didn't want to put much effort into it. You stared blearily into the fridge, trying to make your mind make sense of what you were looking at. 

Nothing looked appetizing, although that might have just been you being tired. Sometimes, food was too complicated when you were tired like this. You sighed, and then you went to the living room, to grab your laptop. Fuck it. You were going to order in, you were going to stuff yourself stupid, and then you were going to veg out on the couch. When Mark and Tyler finished whatever it was that they were doing, you'd all go to bed together.

... and maybe they'd keep giving you blue balls. You hadn't come in several days, after being driven nearly to the brink, and you were beginning to get Testy, although what were you supposed to do about that? You were tired, you didn't have the brain power to really consider how to fix the problem. You could have masturbated, but you didn't feel like it, exactly - it wasn't about getting off, per se - it was about them getting you off. Them working you up, then leaving you to dangle, possibly just because they thought it was funny. Although if you were looking at it like that, maybe you were being paranoid. It wasn't as if they were sitting around making fun of you just because they were getting you horny on purpose, just for the laughs. 

... Right?

You rubbed your face, trying to banish the thought. You needed to get your mind out of that place, because there was no way in hell that was as healthy place to be. You sighed, and you flopped onto the couch, pulling your laptop onto your stomach. 

Okay. First things first, order dinner. You were tempted to reach out to them, maybe send a text asking if anyone wanted any food, but... no. They said they were busy, so they were busy. Since they were busy, you weren't going to bother them. You were going to do your own thing, on your own, and leave them to their own thing.

At least it was an excuse to watch the kinds of movies you wanted to watch, without having to worry about either of them giving you any crap about it. Not that they gave you crap, per se, but... still. There was still that bit of self consciousness at the very edges of your mind, that always made you metaphorically look sidelong at them when you were watching a movie, worried that on some level they were laughing at you. 

Still. 

You sighed, and you sat up, wrapping yourself up in a blanket and beginning to scroll through the website. You're going to order yourself something delicious and decadent, without having to worry about the puppy eyes being shot in your direction, and then you'll be able to indulge in the most indulgent way possible. 

... Maybe you're a bit out of it, if you're chasing your head in circles like this, but still. There'll be food. That's the important thing, right?

* * *

An hour later, you were a bit less loopy, but a good deal more sleepy. You ate a lot of food - delicious food, to be sure, but a lot of it. You were trying not to belch, as you snuggled down into the couch, still wrapped in the afghan. You let your eyes drift shut, resting one hand on your full belly. You really needed to get up, shower, get ready for bed. But you were just so... comfortable - how were you supposed to persuade yourself to get up and off the couch, to your big, empty bed. You could hear Mark and Tyler from the studio, faintly. They weren't being that loud, not really - just the occasional whooping, or some cackling laughter. 

You wondered, drowsily, what it was they were playing. They’d talked about it the other day, but they were always planning something, changing their plan to something else, then going back to the original plan. There was so much back and forthing at this point that you sometimes wondered how they managed to get anything done, as often as they changed their minds. Not that you could blame them. If you had a metaphorical oyster as large as the two of them did, you’d be a little hesitant to crack it open as well.

… Wow, but you were going on tangents. Where had you even been going with that? Even you weren’t sure, and you were the one who had said it! You yawned, so wide that your jaw cracked, and you tried not to wince at that. Maybe you were working too hard. Not that you held a candle to those two, but, well… did _anyone_? You rubbed your eyes, and you pulled the afghan a little higher up your back. 

Maybe you’d pack it in, in a few minutes. You just wanted to stay on the couch a little longer, let yourself luxuriate in your full stomach and the blessed alone time. 

* * *

You woke up to the morning light in your face and on your feet, the afghan kicked off at some point in the middle of the night. You sat up, your head still foggy with sleep, and you rubbed your eyes. Everything was quiet, and it was like existing in your own little bubble of nothinginess. The sun was streaming in through the window, golden, and your whole everything felt weird. Your back and your neck were sore from sleeping at an odd angle, although it wasn't too bad. It wasn't the kind of fucked up you'd get from sleeping on the floor, which you had done, in the past.

Luckily, you had a comfortable couch. It was one of the caveats of your moving here. That, and the guest bed. There was always a place to sleep. Although you were still... where were you? Some small part of your brain was convinced that you'd woken up in another dimension, someplace outside of time, or at least, outside of _your_ time. You padded towards the kitchen, quiet on your feet, and you saw a note on the fridge.

_Hey babe_, read the note. _Got invited on an unexpected thing. Will be home late. Sorry!_

There was a little heart, and then they'd both signed their names. 

Huh.

You hadn't had a chance to be alone like this - alone-alone - for a while. It was a thing you hadn't really realized you'd missed, until you were standing there in the quiet kitchen. You yawned, rubbing your eyes, and you opened the fridge.

They had even put away your leftovers, which was awfully nice of them. They hadn't always been good about putting stuff away. But it was just you right now, just you in the quiet stillness of the kitchen, and you held that in the delicate parts of your _self_ and let it nourish you. 

* * * 

You received the text message when you were on your lunch break. It wasn't much - a little note about how they missed you. You liked the sight of that - the fact that they were thinking of you, that they _missed you_ \- and some small part of you had a flare of embarrassment, because... well, feelings were complicated. You were still a bit cagey about the whole business in the first place, because you'd always been cagey about feelings, but... still. 

You licked your lips, and you leaned back in your seat, rubbing your face. You'd have to text one (or both) of them back, when you had the chance. But you were busy right now, and you'd deal with it when you had the chance to. You were going to be done with your break soon anyway - you had to go back to work. 

You yawned, rubbed your face. You weren't sure why you were so worn out - maybe all the _edging_ that the two of them had been doing to you. You had to admit, you were a bit more... jumpy than usual. It was unusual for you to walk around being this horny all the time, although then again, you had always been on the hornier end of things. You had been so worn out last night that you hadn't even gotten yourself off, although you supposed that some of that was in relation to wanting to get off _with_ someone, not just getting off. Not that you didn't enjoy an orgasm, because you did - you very much did!

But there was a difference between getting yourself off and having someone else get you off. Not just in terms of the concrete things, such as the nature of the orgasm, but also the connection to another person. You wanted... well, you wanted a lot of things. And there was something strangely satisfying about the anticipation. 

You'd never really been one for edging, but you were beginning to see the appeal. Although you were also going to have to find a way to have your revenge, or "revenge," as the case might be. 

Your phone buzzed at you, and you glanced at it. _What do you want for dinner?_ It was a text from Tyler, and you grinned a bit in spite of yourself. He was forever planning ahead. There was something endearing about that, in a way that you couldn't put your finger on. It was nice to know that someone in the relationship was at least trying to keep on top of things.

_I'm good with anything_, you texted back.

_Well, yes, I know that_, came his response. _But I was wondering if maybe you had something that you especially preferred._

You sat there, staring off into the middle distance and trying to put your finger on whatever it was that you were in the mood for.

_I'm pretty much good with whatever_, you told him. _I'm not in any particular mood for any particular thing._

_That’s not helpful_, came the text message back, and you rolled your eyes.

_You’re not asking me to be helpful_, you typed out. _You’re asking me what I want for dinner_.

_I feel like I should argue with that_, came Tyler’s response, _but I’m not entirely sure what I’d say_.

_I’m going to take that as a sign that I won_, you told him, and you were aware that you were grinning a bit too widely. Your coworkers were probably giving you weird looks. 

You could live with weird looks. 

_You can take it as whatever kind of sign it to be, baby_, texted Tyler, and you snorted in spite of yourself. That was such a typical Tyler reply. 

_I don’t even know how to respond to that_, you told him.

_How about with some kind of preference?_

_You know my preferences_, you told him. 

_Well, yes_, he said, _but how do I know you're not going to come in and say that you don't ever want to eat burritos again?_

_If that happens, I want you to shoot me on sight_, you typed out. _That is clearly a faulty pod person that didn't get the right kind of programming_.

_So I should wait for the pod person with the right kind of programming?_

_Exactly!_

You got a selfie back - a picture of Tyler, with one eyebrow raised up. You grinned wider, then glanced at the clock and frowned. You had to go back now. 

_I'll poke you when I'm on my next break_, you typed out. 

_Any ideas of what you want for dinner?_

_Food!_

You were still chuckling to yourself as you turned your phone off, although you would admit that it was kind of obnoxious to give that answer. It always made you crazy when they did that to you, but that was part of the fun. 

... Maybe you were a bit more of a sadist than you thought you were, come to think of it. There was something downright _delightful_ about the fact that you could make them this squirmy just by withholding some attention. Maybe that's why they'd been doing the whole tease and denial thing with you. Was there some sexual equivalent? Although there was something pretty fucking sexual about doing it like this in the first place, although you'd never admit that to anyone's face, for obvious reasons. 

You sighed, as you made your way back. You were tired, and your feet hurt, but fuck, at least you were going to have some fun. And the mental image of Tyler metaphorically pulling his hair out as he tried to figure out what it was that he wanted to do for dinner was... well, more than a little bit amusing. There was something nice about having this kind of power, even over something so insignificant. You never realized that power could be this intoxicating - go figure.

Although maybe you needed to be careful - it seemed like that might be down the line towards cackling dictatorhood, which wasn't exactly a road that suited anyone, least of all you. So you yawned, rubbed your eyes, and got back to work. You had other things to worry about, and you'd get to all of that whatnot when you came up for air. 

* * * 

When you came up for air, there were a few texts. You blinked at them, trying to get your brain in order; most of them were from Tyler, with a few from Mark sprinkled in here and there. Most of them are imploring you to tell them what you want for dinner, with a picture of Chica for some flavor, and then a selfie here and there. The two of them seemed to be relaxing by the pool, and there was a lot of tanned skin on display. You were jealous - it would have been a nice idea, to get to lie in the sun instead of having to work but, well... there were worse things.

You yawned again, and you grabbed your bag as you began to make you way home. You would go home, put your feet up, eat dinner... it would be great. Nice and relaxing.

* * *

Mark and Tyler were kissing on the couch when you got home. It was a _proper_ couch make out too, the kind that were hinted at in a certain type of teen movie. Lots of hands moving, lots of grinding, and the wet, deep kissing that you'd call "soul kissing" if you were a bit less self conscious about just how corny that turn of phrase was. 

You tried to hide your little pang of anxiety when you saw it - there was something incredibly isolating about that, about seeing the two of them together, and being off to the side. You tried to ignore the way your stomach was twisting up with anxiety - _it's not like they exclude me_, you thought, as you made your quiet way towards the kitchen.

To find... nothing. So Tyler hadn't started dinner yet. Maybe he hadn't decided yet, or maybe he wanted to do something special that you weren't seeing. The oven wasn't on, and when you peeked in the fridge, you didn't see anything there either. Maybe he wanted to order takeout? 

You sighed, and you kicked your shoes off, sitting down at the kitchen table and taking out your phone. You wonder, idly, when they'll notice if you're home. _If_ they'll notice you're home, although that's not a nice way of looking at it. Your own insecurities are getting to you, and you know that logically, but... well, illogically, your anxiety is on high alert. Sort of. Or maybe you're just tired. You're pretty sure that your job is eating portions of your soul, although that might just be what... existing under capitalism is like these days. If it hasn't been like that all the time. Although now isn't the time to ruminate on the nature of capitalism. You're not sure when is the right time to ruminate on the nature of capitalism, but...

"Didn't hear you come in," said Mark, and you looked over your shoulder at him and smiled. You were pretty sure it was even a genuine smile.

"Sorry," you said. "I was, uh, spacing out."

"It's fine," said Mark, and he cleared his throat. "Sorry. We got, uh, a bit carried away there."

"Do you want me to leave you guys alone?" You weren't sure how you felt at that moment, except that you were feeling a lot of it, and you weren't sure if you wanted to feel it anymore. 

Not much you could do about that, was there?

"No," Mark said, and he leaned against you, his arms dangling over your chest, his chin on the top of your head. "No, not ever." 

"Because if you -"

"Babe," Mark said, not unkindly, "I love you dearly, but I think you're getting lost in your own insecurities." He began to nuzzle along your neck, which couldn't have been comfortable on _his_ neck, but he wasn't complaining. 

"What insecurities?" You leaned into it, and you sighed, his stubble scratching against your sensitive skin. 

"The fact that me and Tyler have known each other longer than we've known you," said Mark, as his hands moved to your shoulders. He squeezed them, pushed the collar of your shirt to the side so that he can nibble at your shoulder. 

You sighed, letting yourself get lost in the sensation of it, of his hot mouth and his ticklish face. His breath is hot, and his hands are moving along your arms, around to the front of your shirt. His fingers were warm as they slipped under the hem of your shirt, to rest on your belly, then further up, to pinch your nipples. You gasped, stiffening under him, and you could _feel_ him smirking against your cheek.

"I h-h-have to ask," you managed to stutter out, "what's with all the... the teasing lately?" 

"Teasing?" Mark plucked your nipples like guitar strings, and then he stood up, arching his back. "Oh, that's just fun."

"Fun," you echoed, blinking up at him. "You're not, like, mad at me?"

"Why would I be mad at you?" Mark looked puzzled.

"I dunno," said Tyler from the doorway, making his way inside. He looked ruffled and kissed out, his lips swollen and his eyes dark. "You're kind of an asshole."

"Who, me or Mark?" You blinked, trying to figure out what you were feeling.

"Mark," said Tyler. "I mean, you can be an asshole when you want to be -"

"And I can't?" Mark was full of mock indignation, but his hands were on your head, his fingers stroking along all the various delicate spots on your face. 

"You're an asshole most of the time," Tyler countered. "The internet says so." He walked closer, and you could see that he was still hard in his basketball shorts, his cock like a sight gag in a certain class of movie. 

"And you believe everything the internet tells you," you said, deadpan.

"Some things," said Tyler. "When they've been corroborated with my own two eyes."

"Like Bigfoot?" You had your eyes on his cock, and you were licking your lips. You, rather desperately, wanted to suck him off. You were faintly surprised to the degree that you wanted it. You weren't usually one to get the intense oral sex cravings, and yet. 

"Bigfoot is standing in our kitchen," Mark said, in a stage whisper. 

You snorted. "I really want to suck you off," you told Tyler, "and I really want your dick in me," you told Mark. 

"That's... straightforward," Tyler said, blinking. 

"Are you saying you don't want me to be straightforward?" You raised an eyebrow.

"Well, no," said Tyler. "I like straightforward. It makes life easier. Less guesswork."

"So we should do this," you said earnestly. 

"Maybe not in the kitchen, though," said Mark. "I don't think that is going to be good for any of our knees."

You snorted, although your expression was amused. "Are you saying that we're at the point of age where we can't have spur of the moment threesomes in the kitchen?"

"I mean yes," said Mark. "And also it doesn't exactly sound... sanitary." 

"Oh my god, we are old," you said, rubbing your face. 

"Well," Tyler said brightly, "I can still get it up, so I fully intend to enjoy my age."

You snorted. "Bedroom," you said. "C'mon."

* * *

You liked this position - on your knees between the two of them, your mouth around Tyler's cock, Mark's lubed fingers inside of you. You moaned around Tyler's cock, bobbing your cock awkwardly, and you traced your tongue along the slit at the tip. You liked the way he trembled against you. 

Mark inserted another finger, and you groaned, humping awkwardly back against it. You spread your legs wider, as Tyler's hand rested on the back of your head, and you kept sucking. You were balanced on your elbows, trying to keep from falling over, and you were drooling down your chin. You liked the way Tyler gasped around you, against you. You liked feeling them trembling under you, around you. 

Mark's fingers curled, finding that sweet, _good_ spot inside of you, and your whole body clenched like a fist. God, but that was... perfect. So fucking perfect. 

Then you paused, pulling off of Tyler's cock to look over your shoulder at Mark. It was an awkward angle - looking over your shoulder like this, with your ass in the air, isn't giving you much of a view. "Are you two going to keep doing that thing?" You were aware you sounded almost... unhinged, but you wanted to be _clear_.

"What thing?" Mark frowned, and a line was forming between his eyebrows. You wanted to press your thumb into it.

"That thing where you both get me to the very _brink_ and then just... stop," you said. 

"No more edging," Mark promised. "Swear on my honor as a YouTuber."

"That's not something I'd trust, personally," Tyler said, and his voice was far too casual for a guy who had his entire dick out.

"You don't trust a lot of things personally," Mark pointed out.'

You groaned, leaning forward and taking Tyler's cock back into your mouth. At least you had the guarantee, right?

"Oh," Tyler said thickly, and his hand was back on the top of your head. 

“Right,” said Mark, and then his fingers were withdrawing. His cock was pressing into you now, a deep, blunt stretch, and you moaned around the cock in your mouth. God, you needed this. You were so on edge that you were a bit worried you’d just… come, right then and there.

Somehow, you didn’t think that would stop them. 

You sure were looking to find out, though!


End file.
